


Hurricane

by hotmess_ex_press



Series: your perfume (it's in my head) [2]
Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, hmm how to tag such a mess, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmess_ex_press/pseuds/hotmess_ex_press
Summary: Chaeyoung is like the ocean. Swirling, dancing laughing. A thing of wonder on her good days, a force of nature on her worst. Storming, screaming, roaring. Pulling you in like the tide, leaving you behind, warm heart, cold hands. Empty as dark but exploding with life at the same time. She is full, deep, glassy, sprawling for eternity, a siren song that is lethal but so,sosweet. Contained chaos and other fragile oxymorons, she is the seas, pollution and abundance and all.One moment Jennie is dipping her toes into the bubbly sea foam at the edge of sand and shore, the next she is drowning, sinking, struggling, in love and fear and blind faith.Prequel to Perfume





	Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> aah hi hello this is a sequel to _Perfume_ but it can be read on its own. i hope you enjoy!

"Run away with me," Chaeyoung murmurs, lips and words and fingers dancing across Jennie's skin like warm water over frost. Melting her, slipping through her, suffocating her in all the right ways. All the ways that feel good, _so so good_ , the ways that lead her straight to a silvery, perfumed heaven. Jennie lets out a shuddery breath that trembles in the stagnant air like autumn's last leaf.

 

"I couldn't," her grip tightens in Chaeyoung's hair, a silent plea. _Don't go. Love me anyway._

 

"Please," Chaeyoung hovers over her, dark eyes, dark eyes. "Jennie. _Jennie_."

 

A groan escapes her when Chaeyoung's fingers sweep over her stomach, and, _oh_ , that voice. Say her name like that, breathy whisper full of pleading and star-woven dreams, and Jennie will do anything. She'll swim through space and time and rage against the whole world with the fire Chaeyoung lights in her heart. How could she say no, to that smile, to that stare?

 

"Yes. Oh, _gods_ , Chaeng. Yes."

 

 

Eggshell walls, not enough room, empty house, empty home. Mocking them, mocking Jennie. Regret, heavy and sickening, pricks at her heels, so she moves quickly as she unpacks box after box. If she's fast enough, it won't catch up to her. Her head spins like a pinwheel in a hurricane. _Turning, turning, turning._

 

Slow, careful music begins with an uncomfortable, tacky sound. Chaeyoung has set up her old record player on the dusty floor; it churns out a sloppy ballad that slices through the monotony like a knife through butter. Jennie could scream from relief. Cool, sweet hands move to hold hers, skin smooth as marble. Red-painted lips speak close to her ear, soft and persuading. She leans towards the comfort, fingertips finding the silky skin just underneath the neckline of Chaeyoung's creamy blouse.

 

"Dance with me," Chaeyoung says. It's an order, true, but it's so tantalizingly delicious there's only one outcome.

 

They rock to the hefty beat. The lyrics drip with ambrosia, and why would Jennie need anything more than this? If life is white, white, white, then Chaeyoung will be shadows and dimension, red and orange, blue and purple, every syrupy shade in between. She will be everything.

 

( _She already is._ )

 

 

The subtle buzzing of Jennie's phone seems ominous, a cruel threat to the cold, beautiful world she is suspended in. As if swiping that harmless green icon will burst the moon-soaked paradise they have built around themselves. She doesn't want to answer, though her fingers itch in anticipation. _She can't, she can't, she can't_

 

But it's Jiyong, _her_ Jiyong, her first friend and first kiss and one of the few people that stood by her when no one else would.

 

Laborious breaths. _In, out. In, out._

 

She picks up.

 

"Hey," Jennie fiddles with her pillow and tries to inject even a little enthusiasm into her voice. It falls flat. She hopes the dread drifts away, lost in the many miles separating them, before it reaches Jiyong's ears.

 

"Hey. You up for drinks tonight?"

 

Jennie's gaze flickers over to the bathroom. Chaeyoung is almost done with her shower.

 

"Sorry. Not tonight."

 

Jiyong lets out a frustrated noise. "C'mon, Jennie. I haven't seen you in way too long. A couple shots would do you good. What could it hurt?"

 

"I said _no_ , Jiyong." Jennie knows the anger isn't necessary, the bite to her tone is uncalled for. It's there regardless. "Do you need to be reminded what that word means?"

 

"Jesus, Jennie. If you're just sick of me, that's fine. But don't keep saying _next time_. I'm fucking tired of it. Ever since you started dating _Park Chaeyoung_ \--"

 

"This has nothing to do with her!"

 

"Of course it does," Jiyong scoffs. "She's the only thing that matters to you anymore!"

 

"You just don't understand. Maybe you would, if you were _normal_."

 

Jiyong sucks in a sharp breath. There's icy, furious silence for a moment, but that only means every word cuts a little bit deeper. Jennie wants to take the words back, _no no that's not what I meant I'm so sorry don't be mad Jiyong I'm sorry_ , but how can she? They're hanging in the air, glaringly apparent, disgustingly real, and there's nothing Jennie can do. " _Normal?_ If I was _normal_? God, can you even hear yourself? Fuck off, Jennie. You need to get a grip."

 

The call ends, but Jennie doesn't move.

 

"Babe?" Chaeyoung steps into the bedroom, steam billowing out around her. Her skin is dewy from her shower, dark hair braided down her back. She looks like love and faith and light, all things glorious. "What's wrong?"

 

She lets her phone slip from her grasp, plopping onto the beige carpet with an unsatisfyingly small sound. She needs crashes, violent bangs and huge explosions. Chaeyoung can give her that. Chaeyoung can set fireworks off behind her eyes and conduct symphonies in her heart. "Just Jiyong. It's nothing."

 

"Ah," Chaeyoung drops her towel onto the floor and climbs onto the bare bed, crawling forward. Jennie lets her, guides her down to kiss the spot that aches in all the right ways. "You don't need him, anyway."

 

And when all Jennie's love overflows, frantic mouth finding Chaeyoung's like she is the clearest water on earth and Jennie is dying, dying, _dying_ , she hears the words that lay like lace over her sated body.

 

"You're mine. _All mine_."

 

 

She lets the voicemails collect like rainwater trickling into a wooden barrel. All from Jiyong. And, at the end of the week, she deletes them. One by one.

 

_Drip._

 

_Drip._

 

_Drip._

 

 

Chaeyoung is like the ocean. Swirling, dancing laughing. A thing of wonder on her good days, a force of nature on her worst. Storming, screaming, roaring. Pulling you in like the tide, leaving you behind, warm heart, cold hands. Empty as dark but exploding with life at the same time. She is full, deep, glassy, sprawling for eternity, a siren song that is lethal but so, _so_ sweet. Contained chaos and other fragile oxymorons, she is the seas, pollution and abundance and all.

 

One moment Jennie is dipping her toes into the bubbly sea foam at the edge of sand and shore, the next she is drowning, sinking, struggling, in love and fear and blind faith.

 

"I just want a happy ending," Chaeyoung cries, face buried in her ivory-carved hands. The remains of a china tea set that once belonged to Jennie's grandmother are strewn across the carpet like the flowered, jagged pieces of a broken heart. "Why can't you give me that?"

 

Jennie swallows, blood cloying in the back of her throat. She cannot answer.

 

_Isn't that what we all want?_

 

 

Chaeyoung kisses her in front of the canvas that has slept blank for months, and it tastes like alcohol and apology and sticky smoke. Jennie hates the way the elusive residue of cigarettes clings to the air and her clothes and the walls. She thought Chaeyoung had quit months ago.

 

The words _I'm sorry_ are never spoken. That's fine. It's okay, it's alright. Jennie knows Chaeyoung is sorry. Conversation just complicates everything.

 

The canvas remains white, unmarred, asleep. Jennie has yet to bring it to life.

 

 

There's a girl in the city square and she's dancing.

 

She looks like a fairy with her hair in curls, all barefoot and waifish with bright yellow flowers woven around her ankles and head. And she's _dancing_ , eyes closed, smiling, moving like silk through your fingers to the music only she can hear. She's _dancing_ , skirt swirling around her like the ripples that flow from a pebble hitting water, dancing like it's the only thing there is to do, the only thing that matters.

 

 _And maybe it is_ , Jennie thinks.

 

People are stopping, pausing, just to watch her. And they walk away, they all walk away, but maybe, out of all the hundreds and thousands of people they pass by in this very place, she is the one they will remember.

 

All those people, all those lucky people, they start back up with a simple, hopeful grin, with sunshine in their hearts.

 

_What would it feel like, being remembered?_

 

Chaeyoung grips her hand tighter and pulls her to the other side of the square.

 

"Don't smile at strangers," she commands. Jennie ducks her head.

 

_I don't deserve to be remembered._

 

 

Jennie wakes up alone.

 

The window is cracked open, and the floor is ice though the breeze speaks of fires. She closes the window, locks it, smothers the timid, watery morning light with the thick blackout curtain. There was a time when Jennie loved the sky, the sunlight and stars and buttercream clouds.

 

She doesn't have any love left for such insignificant things anymore. It's all for Chaeyoung.

 

Cheap coffee tastes like dirt. It is poured down the drain. Dry bread is impossible to swallow. Jennie throws it all away and brushes her teeth until her gums bleed. She needs a haircut. Do they have the money? Maybe Chaeyoung will allow it.

 

Jennie pads back into the bedroom and flings the closet open. All her old clothes, pretty dresses and cheerful sweaters and weird jackets that still sound like her and Lisa's ridiculous laughter, glare at her, reproachful, spurned, collecting dust at the edges of her life. Jennie ignores them, eyes trained on her shaky hands, and dresses in black, again. Color is wasted on her.

 

 _Jennie, I'm sorry. Please answer me. I don't want our friendship to end like this. Call me. Text me. Whatever. Just...Jennie? Take care of yourself, okay? I miss you._ Jiyong's last message, his remorseful, concerned, words, rings through her mind. Should she be the one feeling guilty?

 

 _Jennie, I want you to do what's best for you._ That was the last thing Lisa had told her before leaving for America. Jennie had promised to video call, to text and write to her best friend. She hasn't.

 

Chaeyoung never liked Lisa.

 

"Fuck," Jennie breathes. Is this what's best for her? Is she happy, truly _happy_? She's in love, crazy, selfless love, and someone absolutely _beautiful_ loves her back. But...

 

Her worries are like lit matches, threatening to light the barren scraps of her mind aflame.

 

A key clicks in the lock.

 

Chaeyoung is like a tsunami, sweeping in, dousing the fires, drawing her doubts away quicker than lying. The rest of the world is overwhelmed by her magic, blinded by her devastating shine, transparent in comparison to her awe-inducing power.

 

"Babe?" musical voice, torturously exquisite. Jennie smiles.

 

She's happy.

 

(This is the third time in two weeks Jennie has slept in a vacant bed.)

 

She's happy.

 

 

Jennie is like a flower.

 

Hopeful, naive, oblivious. Raw and good, but so undeniably fragile. Snap her at the stem and she's done. Meaningless, delicate, brittle. _Breakable_. So dependent on the sun and the soil and the promise of rain. She might crumble from within without the love that keeps her safe. Pull her up from the roots and she'll drift away, bleak and insipid.

 

Jennie is the slight, windswept blossom winding up the steep, craggy rocks on the beach halfway between the divine and the cursed.

 

Chaeyoung is the hurricane to end all hope, tearing through life like it is nothing but laughter.

 

And Jennie is swept away. She falls.

 

_Down_

 

_and down_

 

_and down._

 

 

The bitten-at buds of Jennie's fingernails leave crescent-moon marks on Chaeyoung's wrists where she grasps. Her grip is weak, weak like her lies and her heart and her promises, weak as the impossible sunshine that refuses to reach the corners of their empty apartment. She can't hold on. It's useless, futile. Stupid to try and get her to stay.

 

"Please," Jennie sobs, world blurred and burnt and lopsided. She stumbles after Chaeyoung, hands reaching but latching onto nothing. "Don't go. Don't go. Just stay with me. I'll fix it, I'll make it better. I promise. Don't go."

 

Chaeyoung whirls around and slaps Jennie's hands away, stormy beauty, stormy beauty. Her eyes are fathomless cavities of fury.

 

"You're pitiful," she hisses, and Jennie recoils back from her words. "I'm done. This relationship is a prison."

 

And Jennie gapes, unmoving, tears and achy lungs and all the desperate thoughts she can't seem to string together. She stares after Chaeyoung long after the door slams shut, erasing the unflinching lines of the girl she needs, and when love and pain and grief crash over her like the last bitter waves following a violent tempest, she sinks to her knees.

 

" _Last night_ ," Jennie whimpers, words sticky and choked. "Just last night you said you loved me."

 

Her petals fall away.

 

Everything smells like roses and vanilla, the sharp, intoxicating notes of Chaeyoung's perfume. Her singing echoes through the barren rooms, waltzing around the octaves easy as summertime. It all seems to hum her name, low, teasing, satiny.

 

_Chaeyoung, Chaeyoung, Chaeyoung._

 

Just like a hurricane, she is gone, leaving behind nothing but the shattered wisps of a girl and a hollow, hollow home.

**Author's Note:**

> ack if possible i like this one even less than Perfume...sorry if the flow seems off or it doesn't really connect to the first one. i tried my best
> 
> Comments and kudos are loved and cherished forever


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